An American Pastime
by OrangePlum
Summary: Canada wants to know why America loves baseball so much. England deviously decides to get America to explain to the public if he is a 'pitcher' or a 'catcher.'


Author's Note: America needs to read the atmosphere and stop being so dense.

* * *

><p>"Hey… Do you ever wonder why Alfred likes sports so much?"<p>

England glanced up briefly from the work in front of him, eyes scanning over the boisterous American leaping around the courtyard with a baseball cap and glove, blabbering on to the other nations on the intermission between presentations. He let his gaze linger a bit longer than he should have, somehow becoming briefly mesmerized with America's contagious antics, before shrugging noncommittally.

"Because he's a simpleton who enjoys living in a world of games and fantasy rather than the real world?" he supplied.

Canada, who had been sitting beside him, didn't look convinced by the Briton's drab reaction. He continued to watch his brother swing an imaginary bat and look astounded at where the imaginary ball flew off into the horizon. "He really seems to love baseball."

"As do you feel for hockey," England retorted, turning the page of his book.

Canada frowned momentarily. "… No. I mean he _really _loves baseball."

"I heard you, Matthew. There was no misunderstanding with my statement," England said with a side glance and small smirk. Canada merely huffed. After a moment's pause, England shut his book carefully and leaned back into the cement bench he was on, regarding America in the distance almost contemplatively. A glint appeared in his eyes as his lips curled, peeling back and showing just the slightest whisper of teeth.

Placing his book down, he called out, "Alfred, would you be a dear and come over here a moment!"

America stopped his jabbering to the Italy twins and Spain, blinking curiously in his baseball attire before spotting England smiling pleasantly across the garden, waving at him. He grinned, dimples poking into his sun-kissed cheeks. America trotted over to England and Canada, tilting up the visor of his hat and panting. "What's up?"

Canada watched England with a small feeling of suspicion at the odd smile the Englishman was sporting. "We play baseball together occasionally, don't we, lad?"

America nodded, patting at his leather glove on his hand, giving a wink to Hungary and Belgium who were sitting at a bench next to England's. They shook their heads and rolled their eyes. "Sure do. Why'd ya ask?"

England folded his hands over his crossed knee looking absolutely pleased with America's immediate response (that he totally predicted he would say). "No reason. Your brother and I were just discussing it for a short minute. Tell me, do you love baseball?"

America's eyes gleamed. "Sure do! It's the best sport in the world. Nothing gets more American than that!" he exclaimed, nudging at Germany who was walking by him. He made an unpleasant face.

Canada wearily raised his eyebrow when England all but grinned. "Do you like pitching or catching in a… _game_?"

Canada recoiled and balked, looking horrified. England snickered into his hand, titters leaking out of his mouth as America weighed the question and scratched at his head, not even noticing some of the perceptive ears around him that began to take notice of this conversation.

"Mmm… They're both fun, but I guess I'd say I like catching," he finally announced.

England felt his chest tighten with humor as he saw a few nations look surprised up at America's casual statement, Hungary looking particularly intrigued.

"Catching, hm? You catch more often than pitch?"

"Yup! It's easier. Less work for me to do. I just have to squat there and concentrate on when to properly take it," America smiled, looking proud of himself. He failed to notice the color draining from his brother's face and the Briton in front of him looking like he were about to burst.

"Y-you enjoy it that much?"

"Duh! The faster the better, too! I like it hard–"

"Alfred, stop!" Canada shrieked, stumbling off the bench and scrambling to his feet. He looked ill, unable to make eye-contact with his twin. America tilted his head in confusion at the nausea etched onto Canada's face. "That's so gross. I don't need to hear about this..."

All the while England popped the lid off his laughter and began to laugh freely, sides hurting as he watched America glance around in unabashed confusion at the plethora of faces watching him, a few taking Canada's approach and trying to slink off, while others being less discreet, such as France, who appeared rather disturbingly aroused at this knowledge.

"What's gross? Pitching and catching isn't gross, bro. What the fuck are you saying?" America looked almost offended that his brother said baseball was gross. He needed to right this wrong. He puffed up his chest and folded his arms as best he could whilst wearing a mitt. "For your information, I can pitch just as well as I can catch!"

Unable to lead the joke on any further, England wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes and stood up, grabbing America by the bend of his elbow and pulling him away. "All right, that's enough of that, Alfred. Stop scaring your brother."

America frowned at England who led him past the staring faces and back out towards the grassier edge of the courtyard, the area with more bushes that were very useful for privacy. "Hey… What did I say?" he pouted.

England smiled at the childish American before patting his cheek teasingly. "Nothing at all, love. But if it will make you feel any better, I will play a round of baseball with just the two of us. You can decide whether to pitch or catch as well, my treat."

America raised his eyebrow at the mischievous smirk England bestowed upon him as he tugged him further into the grassy patch, still completely baffled.

What was the big deal? It was just baseball.


End file.
